24 May 2019

Postcard 167

They are terrified correctly. They are right to fear
They seed the country impotent and scrape the fertile dirt
with crooked tin, mountain stripped
See their naked effluvia!

Their death is straight and hollow lead pipe madness
Who tosses babies from walls?
Who cuts trees for scaffolding?
Who spites the moon and all its red tendrils?
Theirs is a voidless void that stares not back

Only true power is create:
the rotting leaves unburied,
the awe-striking spin of sky, the belly-ripe fruits
stinking sweet about the feet of tree

Every mortised structure, every law
every prison, every lawn -- a feeble
neutered pushback against decay
They are right to be terrified

They cooked up their Lysol but
the wicked world rots away
the wicked world rots richly away
The world rots rich and glorious away
bleeds life between its wicked legs

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